


Snake-umentary

by mediocrityatbest



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxceit - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediocrityatbest/pseuds/mediocrityatbest
Summary: Virgil has had a stressful day.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	Snake-umentary

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on Tumblr: "Just...stay for one night."

Virgil has spent the day running around like a headless chicken. First his fire alarm woke him at four in the morning. There was no fire, but after starting his day with a panic attack, he couldn’t get back to sleep. So then he went to work on some of his commissions and accidentally deleted them, so he had to message the recipients to ask what they wanted him to draw, which was more interaction than Virgil wanted before noon. And he’d realized the only thing he had in the fridge was grapes when he tried to make breakfast. Which meant Virgil also had to go to the grocery store, and then he also bought art supplies because he was already out, but that included a drawn out conversation with a chipper check-out clerk that accidentally misgendered him before bombarding him with questions about what kind of art he liked to do.

By the time he finally got home, he was exhausted and the ice cream he bought had melted and all Virgil really wanted to do was lie down for a nap. But of course his stupid brain betrayed him  _ again _ and wouldn’t even let him have that.

And as if all that wasn’t bad enough, his friend got in a crash. He’s fine, just a few bruises and a fucked up car, but there was enough of an interim between news of the crash and the outcome that Virgil had worked himself into another panic attack, as though that could have possibly aided the situation at all.

So, yeah, it’s eleven o’clock at night Virgil is functioning on about two hours of sleep—though that was a generous estimate—and not nearly as much food as he should’ve eaten. He feels sick and tired and just wants to sleep but he keeps getting jittery and pacing around his apartment and resisting the urge to call Roman and make sure he’s okay because that would just be annoying, he already talked to Roman and he knows he’s fine.

Maybe he should call again. Just to be sure.

His fingers hover over the buttons, debating the merits of calling. He could text, of course, and then Roman could respond whenever he felt like it and it wouldn’t have to be such a thing like this, but if he asked how Roman was doing and Roman didn’t respond for a while, that could very well induce another panic attack because he could be  _ hurt _ and Virgil wouldn’t know, oh shit-

There’s a knock on the door, yanking Virgil out of his spiral as effectively as if someone had slapped him. He’d a friend do that, once, actually, because he didn’t know how to help and panicked, and it had stopped all of Virgil’s thought processes in their tracks as he tried to figure out what the fuck had happened in the real world and why was his face stinging.

Another knock on the door lets Virgil know that he still hasn’t opened it yet, so he drags himself across the room and opens the door, half-hoping and half-expecting that Roman will be standing there, in all his bruised-but-okay glory, and tell Virgil he could hear him worrying from across town.

Instead, it’s the last person Virgil was expecting.

“Oh,” he says, “hey.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Dee says, rolling his eyes. He’s wearing his fingerless yellow gloves and his snake contact and the leather jacket that most people never saw him without, baggy jeans and doc martens. There’s a bag of food from a local chinese restaurant in his hand.

“I totally fuckin’ spaced,” Virgil says, remembering that he was supposed to be having an eat-in date with his boyfriend tonight. “I’m a shitty person.”

“Forgot about me?” Dee says, bumping into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. “How rude.” He keeps talking, but Virgil’s too focused on  _ Everything _ and  _ Nothing _ like they’re concrete objects and not the most overwhelming intangible thing Virgil has ever had to deal with.

Is he panicking again? He’s too tired for this shit.

He comes back to reality who knows how long later. He’s sitting on the couch, somehow, Dee pressed into his side. The food is sitting on the floor in front of him and there’s some show he’s never seen before playing on t.v. He starts picking at his nail out of habit, confused. More than halfway to scared but unwilling to admit it.

“Back?” Dee asks quietly, lifting his head up to look into Virgil’s face.

“Uh,” Virgil says, “yeah. How long…”

“It’s almost twelve,” Dee says. “So, little less than an hour.”

“Shit,” Virgil says. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Woah.” Dee pulls himself up so he’s sitting, facing Virgil. “There’s not a need for all that. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil says, but the words sound like they’re teeth being pulled out with pliers or the rattle of a snake right before it bites. Virgil knows immediately that this won’t pass.

“Try again,” Dee says flatly. Despite his tone, his eyebrows are creased slightly and his lips are pursed. He has a hand on one of Virgil’s, just enough to ground him in the moment instead of launching off into whatever brain-fuck he gets stuck in like that.

“Uhm, it’s just been a lot. Today.” He hesitates, but Dee’s eyes stay right on him, ready to listen to whatever Virgil has to say, so he spills every detail of his day, from the big stuff (the crash, being misgendered) to the little stuff (the shitty song that got stuck in his head, the person with aggressively bubblegum pink pigtails), and once he’s finally done, he feels better.

“That’s shit,” Dee says. He kisses Virgil’s cheek and then picks up a cold container of rice. “It sucks that your day went like that. The only remotely remarkable thing that happened to me today was someone coming in and asking for a tattoo of Where’s Waldo with his dick out.” He passes the rice to Virgil. “Also, your friends aren’t going to be mad that you’re worried about them. They aren’t going to be pissed if you call to make sure they’re okay, especially after some shit like a crash.”

“But what if  _ they are _ ,” Virgil says, eating a little rice.

“Then I will kick their ass and you won’t have anything to worry about either way.” Dee grins, his sharp smile with his abnormally sharp canines that always puts people on edge. It makes Virgil’s heart melt.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “You could have eaten without me, you know.”

“No. I came over to relax with my boyfriend, not eat food alone while wondering who I needed to kill. We will eat together.” Dee taps his cardboard container into Virgil’s. “Though, it is getting pretty late. I’m gonna have to get out of here soon.”

“Stay,” Virgil blurts before he can think better of it. Dee raises an eyebrow at Virgil, and he refuses to look down. “Just...stay for tonight. Please.”

“Patton always comes over on Friday mornings for breakfast. As in, tomorrow. Your friends,” Dee starts, but they’ve had this conversation enough times and all Virgil really wants at this moment is to have his boyfriend with him and not going anywhere.

“Fuck it,” Virgil says, voice heated, cutting Dee off. Dee stops, doing a bad job of hiding his shock. “Fuck it,” he repeats. “Listen, they have misconceptions about you and our friendship was new enough that I didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up. But-but you are my boyfriend, so if they want me, they’re damn well going to have to get over it.” Virgil sighs quietly, losing steam. He’s too tired to make an impassioned speech about loyalties and relationships like he wants to. “I know you have work in the morning. If you can’t, I get it. It’s fine.”

“No,” Dee says. “If you want me to stay, I’m not going to move my ass off this couch. I just want you to be sure, because if I’m still here when he gets here, there’s no taking this back.” He holds Virgil’s face in his hands, gentle and loving.

“I’m sure. Promise. There’s not any part of  _ this _ I want to take back.” He leans in and Dee meets him for a kiss. It tastes like soy sauce. “I’m going to text Patton, let him know I have a plus one.” Virgil pulls out his phone and shoots off a text, not expecting a response two minutes later that reads,  _ Samesies! Can’t wait, kiddo! _

Virgil decides not to dwell on what that could mean.

“Your eyes are barely open,” Dee breathes, relaxing into Virgil’s chest. “Let my snake-umentary take you to dreamland. I’ll meet you there.” Virgil smiles even though Dee can’t see it, dopey with feeling this much and finally feeling safe enough to sleep.


End file.
